


Honey, Here Comes a Lullaby

by AmaranteReikaChan



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 20:50:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmaranteReikaChan/pseuds/AmaranteReikaChan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why are you playing an ancient Gallifreyan instrument while I'm trying to sleep?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey, Here Comes a Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> In my head this kind of takes place after another of my stories (if our love is tragedy). However, their narratives bear no relation to one another. Thus, you do not need to have read that story to understand this one (or vice versa). 
> 
> Just know that in terms of timelines, it is an older River and recently married Doctor.
> 
> All characters belong to the BBC and the makers of Doctor Who. Story title from 'Lullaby' by Nickelback.

A multitude of strident tones filled the bedroom echoing off the TARDIS walls to create a cacophony of painfully ear-splitting music. It _was not_ a tune River found pleasant to wake up to.

She couldn’t begin to imagine why the man she sometimes called her husband was intent on torturing her so much.

When her attempts at simply ignoring the dissonance failed she groaned, rolled onto her stomach, buried her face into her pillow and covered her ears with the palms of her hands.

“Sweeffe, woof phe helth ugh ouf stewing?”

The Doctor ceased his playing, blinking at her slumped form, only then realising that she had awoken. “Pardon?”

She lifted her head to glare at him causing stray curls to fall across her face. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Playing the perigosto.” Grinning with pride he held the instrument up for her to see.

“Why are you playing an ancient Gallifreyan instrument while I’m trying to sleep?”

“You were restless. I thought it might help.”

“ _Help_? How could a tuneless twangy trill that makes your ears bleed possibly help me sleep?”

The Doctor gasped, affronted and hugged the perigosto tightly to his chest. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Accept it, sunshine,” her teeth gritted against each other as she spoke.

“Okay, fine,” he said softly, placing the periogosto on the floor. “You’ve just woken up, you’re in a bad mood, I’ll let that slide.”

“And whose fault is it that I’m in a bad mood?”

Suddenly he was clicking his fingers, a glint of triumph in his eyes. River would have flinched if she were not so accustomed to his abruptly erratic movements.

“I’ve got it! I know exactly what will help you to relax. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” In a flurry of limbs and enthusiasm the Doctor had exited the room.

River flopped back onto the pillows with an exhausted sigh.

“I was sleeping fine,” she grumbled to the empty room, inhaling slowly and cherishing the undoubtedly limited tranquillity. She looked toward the ceiling. “Dear, how long has it been?”

A buzzing noise drew River’s attention to the screen of a digital clock perched on the small oak table situated beside the bed. She whimpered as she saw the numbers 1:34 flash on the display.

“Ninety four minutes. He let me sleep for _ninety four_ minutes?” Slapping a hand to her face she massaged her forehead, willing this to be a dream and not reality. Any hope of it being a by-product of her sleep was shattered moments later when the Doctor came bounding back in with a recorder.

He brought the wind instrument to his lips and blew into it, his fingers covering the holes sporadically. Judging by his adorable frown River gathered he was expecting a more pleasant and melodic tune than the discordance that was actually produced.

“I could play it fine in my second face.”

“Yes, well,” River teased her hair, propped up on her elbow and peering over at him, “talents change between regenerations. In my last face I was an excellent beat boxer.”

“Really?”

She nodded.

“I’ll find something else.” The Doctor slipped out the room and River flopped back onto the bed emitting a long-suffering sigh. It was going to be a long night.

This time he returned with an accordion balancing precariously in his weedy arms. River winced at the sound it elicited, far from harmonious.

“Not working.”

His face fell, the accordion hanging limp by his side in one hand. This time he said nothing before trudging, defeated, out into the hallway.

She fought the urge to cringe when he eagerly pranced through the doorway carrying a ukulele, completely convinced that he had found a winner. All it took was two strums of the strings for River to know he hadn’t, another ten for him to realise it too.

She dismissed his partnership with the ukulele with a small shake of the head.

“There’s something, I’m sure of it. I know what it is!”

His great epiphany turned out to be a harp. River had to admit to herself that it may have been effective if he weren’t so atrocious at playing it.

The Doctor’s absolute lack of musical talent seemed to be the underlying cause for why none of the instruments produced a melodious tune. He’d previously tried a xylophone, banjo, harmonica and guitar – all unsuccessful because of his deficiency in knowing how they should be played. He even went through the effort of wheeling in a baby grand piano, only to realise that he didn’t know how to play it either. After that exertion he resorted to only bringing in instruments he could carry.

Unfortunately for River, the TARDIS seemed to have an endless supply of them from every corner of all the galaxies.

“You know, you could just _hide_ them,” she irritably told the time machine during one of the Doctor’s quests to find a suitable music maker. The response River received was the mechanical noise all who frequented the TARDIS knew to be laughter. “Must you be so sadistic?”

The second he walked in with a euphonium she ordered him straight back out the room.

River lost track of all the instruments he carted in. It was too depressing to keep count. Each new musical object brought with it another five minutes she knew she would not be asleep.

She wasn’t entirely sure _what_ he was trying to achieve. What she did know was that all he had succeeded in doing was incite a throbbing headache.

“Why are you doing this?” River finally asked as the Doctor allegedly played a violin. To her utmost relief the shrill ruckus he was producing ceased when he redirected his attention to her.  

“You weren’t sleeping well. I thought some music might calm you.”

“Do I look calm?” Her annoyance dissipated as she watched his face fall, the guilt rushing in for upsetting him when he’d only been acting solicitously. “You’re trying to play me a soothing lullaby.”

“Not so successfully, apparently.”

“It might have worked if you actually knew how to play any one of those instruments.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” he mumbled, idly fiddling with the bow.

“In this case, not really.”

Realising his efforts were a lost cause he deposited the violin and bow on the plum coloured armchair to his left.

“You looked uncomfortable. I couldn’t leave you there…” he broke off, his gaze turning to meet hers, determined, “I can’t just do nothing when you might be having bad dreams. You were having bad dreams.”

“It’s because of you, you know. That I even have nightmares.”

“I know.”

River rolled her eyes. He attributed everything she said to her stolen childhood and always blamed himself for it.

“Not like _that_. I meant,” she sighed, sitting up with the sheets around her waist and hands crossed in her lap, “it only happens here. Not when I’m at Stormcage, not when I sleep anywhere else.”

“Why?” He frowned, subconsciously stepping towards the bed.

“I know I’m safe here.” River shrugged, paying no heed to the strap of her nightgown slipping down her shoulder. She glanced around the room. “Her, you.”

His frown only deepened. “I don’t—”

“Anywhere other than here, I don’t sleep soundly enough to dream. Especially not at Stormcage. Always have to be on guard. I usually sleep with a gun under my pillow.”

“What?” he demanded, eyes comically wide.

“Not here!” River laughed. “Please, that’s one thing you managed to drill out of me right at the start. Just think, you’ve got all that to look forward to.”

The Doctor awkwardly fiddled with his hands, squinting up at her through his bangs. “Anytime you don’t want to worry about sleeping with a gun, you’re always welcome here.”

“I know that,” her voice was thick with fond exasperation. “Please, I’ve been doing this for years sweetie. Though, I wouldn’t say I’m _always welcome_. I’ll take any TARDIS I find.”

“ _What?_ River, that’s _not safe_.” He quickly crossed the few feet that were still remaining between him and the bed, perching himself on the edge and gesturing wildly. “If they find a stowaway… if polychromatic superiority complex finds you—”

“Oh, you mean the clown put through a woodchipper?” she asked, nose upturned. “You’re right, he’s not very pleasant is he? I don’t much care for him.”

“He’s also extremely volatile and will likely hurt you if he finds you.” He pointed at her. “And he’s probably not the only one. What you’re doing is extremely dangerous.”

“It’s perfectly safe. She always makes sure you don’t know.” River lay a hand over his knee, smiling reassuringly. The Doctor merely pouted.

“Do try to come to _me_ though.”

“You’re not always accessible.” She sat back against the headboard and was reminded of how little sleep she had achieved when she broke into a yawn, her eyelids heavy and fluttering shut of their own accord. “Stop your fretting and enough of this lullaby poppycock. You really want to help me sleep better?”

Her eyes opened to see the Doctor nod earnestly.

“Then get up and hop in.” Shuffling over in the bed to create more space between her and the edge, she pat the covers beside her.

Despite furrowing his brows in confusion the Doctor stood from the bed and began following her instruction anyway. He kicked his shoes off and shrugged his arms out of his tweed coat, flinging it over the violin on the armchair. Lastly he slipped his arms out from his suspenders and left them hanging by his legs as he lifted the sheets and slid into the bed.

“Scooch over.”

He shuffled towards the middle of the surprisingly reasonable sized bed (small by River’s standards of grandiose furniture, he thought). When he was close enough she nestled into his chest and lay her hand over his hearts, finger idly tracing his buttons.

Against his will, the arm trapped under her wrapped around the small of her back, his hand taking purchase on the silk fabric covering her hip, light and soft between his fingers. With his other hand he toyed with her hair.

The whole position felt unnervingly natural.

“What now?”

River laughed throatily, the noise muffled into the Doctor’s chest, making him feel all warm and tingly inside.

He pouted, having no understanding what was so amusing. She turned to look up at him with sparkling eyes.

“Nothing. You beautiful idiot. I don’t need a melody to sleep soundly. I just need you. And before you ask, no, you don’t have to stay like this until I wake up. You never do.”

“Why didn’t you say earlier?”

“You were amusing me. It was sweet watching you try.” Her smile was warm and too raw with emotion for the Doctor to handle. His hand tightened over her hip as he exhaled. He clenched his eyes shut as he tried to forget how undeserving he was of her unconditional devotion.

When he eventually opened them again she was still watching him, scrutinising his face.

“You should sleep too. I can tell it’s been far too long. Just a few hours.”

“Is that an order?”

“Yes.”

Without another word she nestled back into his chest. Soon she was drifting off into a relatively peaceful sleep to the comforting sensation of the Doctor subconsciously tracing Gallifreyan words into the arch of her back and gently brushing the fingers of his other hand through her curls.

Hours later when River began to stir from her slumber she felt the weight of the Doctor’s hand in hers, holding her arm out over the side of the bed. Blinking the sleep from her eyes she saw his blurry form sitting in his armchair, that was now situated beside the bed and no longer holding the violin. He was reading a rather hefty book.

She gave his hand a squeeze causing him to look up at her in surprise. The moment he caught her gaze he broke into a toothy grin. He slammed the book shut, discarding it on the coffee table aside his chair with a thud.

“Morning dear. Although, since it’s a time machine it’s not really morning is it? No such thing as time of day here. But I suppose, it’s my TARDIS so I can decide whatever time I want it to—”

“Did you sleep?”

“Yes,” he lied. River decided against scolding him. “I didn’t leave.”

She smiled. “I didn’t say you would. I said you don’t stay in the bed with me.”

He leapt out of his chair in one jerky motion, releasing her hand. Spinning on his heel, he brought his hands together, deep in thought. “Now, adventures! What shall we do today? Do you want to choose? Or shall I surprise you?”

River sat up slowly, the blankets falling to her lap as she stretched, watching him intently.

“Is there something you’re forgetting?”

“Oh breakfast, of course. And pyjamas. How about you get dressed and I’ll go find us some breakfast.”

“Still missing something,” she exclaimed lightly, tilting her face upwards in an expectant manner.

The Doctor stared at her for a long while, completely perplexed, before finally catching on to what she was waiting for. His eyes rolled fondly even as he travelled to give her a peck on the lips.

“Anything else I’ve forgotten?” he quipped, their faces still inches apart. River beamed, shooing him while at the same time somehow managing to clap her hands.

“Breakfast, choppity chop. Surprise me. But no fish fingers and custard!”

“What was that?” His head popped back through the doorway as he was on his way out, a goofy grin gracing his features. “You want fish fingers and custard?”

“No!” River hurled a pillow at the door.


End file.
